Burning Bengal
by BakshaarTheBengal
Summary: Bakshaar, a Bengal tiger, was taken from his home in a animal reserve to the Brainiac mother ship. Granted intelligence and pryokinesis, he is 'rescued' and mentored by the Joker. Can he be saved, or is his sanity forever lost... Rating may bump up to M in the later chapters.
1. Incarcerated

Note: This story line is not my own. I have taken what the brilliant minds at DC Universe have given us and spun a story for my character, NukeNeko. He is a pyrokinetic tiger bent on causing destruction to find his home.

Summary: Bakshaar, a Bengal tiger, was taken from his home in a animal reserve to the Brainiac mother ship. Granted intelligence and pryokinesis, he is 'rescued' and mentored by the Joker. Can he be saved, or is his sanity forever lost...

_"A savage specimen -"_

_"-a safe choice? It's quite-"_

_"-do just fine. The Master says we should start now, or-"_

_"-for the green light. You know the rules."_

Bakshaar heard the words, and knew what they meant, but somehow he still could not understand them.

The voices were distant, disembodied, fragmented. The speakers were out of sight. Brief snatches of conversation filtered through to his sharp feline ears, laid back flat against his skull. His golden eyes, usually blazing with life and unrestrained, wild energy, were dull with fear.

He was being contained. He knew that much, even if he didn't know why.

The small cavity he was being held in was abhorrent to him in every way. It was tiny, barely big enough to stretch his lithe, supple limbs in.

The walls and floor were made of some awful hard, brown stuff that his teeth and claws could barely scratch. It was cold to the touch, and eerily smooth; almost like metal, but somehow . . . different. Metal was good, metal was normal, metal at least smelled... natural. This was all wrong, so wrong. It reeked of something horrible waiting for him. There was nothing natural about it.

His sensitive nose quivering slightly, Bakshaar raised his head hopefully for what must have been the thousandth time, or perhaps the millionth since his incarceration. He sniffed the air, hoping against hope for a breath of fresh air, but all that filled his nostrils was the sick, heady stink of... alien.

They were awful, these things. They smelled of strange metals and chemicals, of all sorts of unnatural, fabricated things that made no sense to him. Alien smells, terrifying smells. He was used to the soft, sweet smell of his territory at night, a million different comfortable scents flying through the air, mixing, intermingling and rushing through his lungs to set him at ease. The cold smell of the fresh greenery on the trees, already dripping with dew; the warm smell of the rich, earthy loam beneath his paws; the smell of the hunt; the smell of The Women.

Pictures flashed before his eyes, taunting him, tormenting him, trying to break him.

He skulking through the foliage back home, climbing over a fallen log, sneaking through the undergrowth as effortlessly as a bird soared through the air. He was on the hunt, still as a statue before pouncing, landing on The Women with playful ease. He was back with her, playing and supporting her large, upright frame with his larger, quadruped one.

A low, agonized growl slipped out of Bakshaar's throat. In raw anger, he butted his head against the only part of his new home that was not made of the awful brown stuff. No, no, the yellow was even worse. The yellow shocked him. It was the worst scent of all, sharp and acidic like blood, but nowhere near as . . . natural.

That was it. It all came back to that. Nothing here was real. It was all artificial and horrid and cruel. Bakshaar curled up into as tight of a ball as he possibly could, tucking his tail under his head and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Perhaps, if he just went to sleep, something would change. Good things happened at night, and although he could not see the sky, he sensed that it was already dark.

Of course, his cold, dead prison was always dark. There was no sun, no moon, no stars. Nothing but the dark shadows cast by the aliens when they brought their harsh, bright miniature suns with them to prod, poke and terrify him even more.

As Bakshaar fell into an uneasy sleep, his tail twitched involuntarily, and a low, whimpering rumble sounded from his throat – the sound of abject misery.

AN: The reason he describes them as 'alien' is because he had seen humans before and knew what they were. As for the descriptions, I worked with what little of the ship you could see. Reviews are welcome.


	2. Injected

_"Let it sleep-"_

_"-get accustomed, can't-"_

_"-but if it fights?"_

_"-subdue it. You know how."_

"Specimen. Awaken." A low, mechanical voice, accompanied by a leering face attached to a corpulent alien. "It is time for the next injection."

Jerked into wakefulness, Bakshaar growled at the thing and slunk backwards, away from where the yellow was. The fur on the back of his neck stood up as he glared at the alien in front of him. Every sense in his body was suddenly on full alert, despite his having been in the depth of an uncomfortable slumber just seconds earlier. Every muscle in his body thrummed expectantly, ready to move at a split-second's notice.

With a horrid, ear-rending screeching noise, the strange creature pressed a section on the wall, dissolving the yellow and leaving room for Bakshaar to exit.

"Specimen. Come." It buzzed. Bakshaar growled again, baring his yellowed fangs. All the instincts he possessed were screaming at him to run, to escape, to get as far away from this awful place as possible, but fear rooted him to the spot – cold, paralyzing fear that held him tightly in its grip and refused to let go.

Making strange huffing noises, the alien clinked forward on it's mechanical, spiderish legs into Bakshaar's prison, reaching out for him with big, metal claws. Bakshaar pressed himself desperately against the back wall, frantically attempting to stay out of reach, but to no avail. Unsurprisingly strong, the mechanical claws anchored themselves around his waist.

The tiger tried to slash and bite his assailant, but as he twisted madly in the mechanical arms, he realized just how very weak he was. He had spent many nights in the cell, eating only the queer smelling, chewy cubes he had been supplied with. He had not hunted. His body cried out for fresh meat, and protested at the lack thereof.

Still trying futilely to writhe free of his captor, Bakshaar was carried out of the room and up into the light.

Or at least, that was what he thought for a split second. Soon, however, he realized that he had simply been carried into another part of the aliens' den. It was a larger space, for which, in some tiny, irrelevant corner of his mind, he was thankful. The problem was that it was full of aliens and stank even worse than his prison had.

At least six creatures were there, full of their stench, and it made Bakshaar sick to breathe it in.

The one carrying Bakshaar dumped him unceremoniously on a cold, flat, hard surface.

Bakshaar shuddered. Immediately, he moved to leap from it to the floor, but he was seized by several pairs of mechanical bands and held down. He felt his limbs being encased in more cold bands, and found himself immobilized. Finally rendered completely unable to move, Bakshaar stared up at his tormentors, the last sparks of anger flaring in his eyes. A tremor ran down the length of his spine, causing those sparks to flicker out at last, replaced by utter terror.

Before, it had seemed, nothing could have affected him more than being locked away as he had been, but now he knew that to be wrong. Before, at least, there had been hope. Even though he still did not know his fate, Bakshaar was now certain that the aliens meant him harm.

Panic flooded through him, making his limbs shake uncontrollably. Roaring, he yanked at the restraints holding him down, but the metal bands were cruelly unyielding. He thrashed his head, growling furiously at his captors, but they just watched him dispassionately.

"Incapacitate it," hummed the one who had brought him, it's voice artificial. "It's stress levels will counteract the serum."

One of the others advanced on Bakshaar, holding something tiny that glinted in the artificial light. He felt a slight jab in the back of his neck. It wasn't terribly painful, but it made him start. The world began to dissolve around him, swirling into a ghastly, nightmarish quagmire of cold steel, glimmering yellow, and false light that grew quickly darker and more indistinct.

Sleepily, Bakshaar snapped at the aliens, but he could feel the will to move seeping from his body. With a final effort, he tried to lift his head, but it was spinning at an impossible speed. Almost thankfully, the tiger allowed himself to succumb to the bliss of unconsciousness.


	3. Inferno

_"This one is different-"_

_"It resists our injections, but-"_

_"-signs of increasing power-"_

_"We can't contain him much longer."_

Fire coursed through his body. The inferno wracked his entire being, white-hot and searing. He tried to scream, but he couldn't wrench his jaws apart, so all he heard was a breathless howl. No part of his body was safe – the fire burned through every inch of his body, tearing, ripping and incinerating him from the inside out.

He writhed around on the floor in an effort to dispel the pain, but the friction only intensified the agony, forcing him to stop. Lying still didn't hurt much less, but it gave him an opportunity to catch his breath. His muzzle was tightly bound, so he was forced to snatch sharp, huffing breaths through his nose. Every time he took a breath, a fresh wave of pain went rolling through his body.

He couldn't see. Everything was dark. There was nothing to hear save his own desperate breathing. Worst of all, though, his sense of smell was blocked. Nothing made any sense, nothing could be sensed. Fear filled his mind, battling with the pain for dominance over his body. He wanted to run, to get up and run away, but every time he tried to move his legs, another spasm of pain shot through them, almost causing him to black out.

He didn't know how long he existed in this dreadful state, or what was happening to him. It could have been eternities, or it could have been mere hours, but whatever the case, every second was worse than the last. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never find the sweet release of unconsciousness.

The aliens had done something to him, but he didn't know what. Their foreign, hideous instruments of death had wreaked some havoc on his body, that was sure enough.

After what seemed like many, many moons, he finally began to feel a creeping blackness encroaching on the edges of his already black field of vision. It was a darker blackness than the one he was imprisoned in, and he welcomed it once more as he was released from his agony for what, surely, was the last time...


	4. Bipedal

_"Wake it-"_

_"It's getting more weary-"_

_"-might exterminate it-"_

_"-coincidental, just wake it up-"_

_"-just observe for new powers."_

Again... why was he awake again? Had the creatures not seen fit to end his life yet? With a cautious twitch, Bakshaar tested his front paws. No pain was forthcoming, though he was still blinded.

He scrabbled to his feet, nose twitching as he sniffed the air, his ears twitching. The air smelled dank and musty, overlaid with the odor of filthy water and interwoven with a multitude of other scents he couldn't identify, none of which were particularly pleasant.

Bakshaar growled cautiously, glad to have the use of his jaws back. His paws flexed experimentally, feeling the texture of the floor beneath him with their sensitive pads. It was rough, cold and porous, like stone. Was it stone? He lowered his head to sniff it gingerly, and recoiled instinctively. It smelled of death.

A great screeching, grating noise filled the air, and he whirled around towards its source, a low growl emitting from his throat. As he turned, he sensed that something was wrong with his body. It moved differently to what was normal. It seemed – heavier, yet more powerful.

The smell of alien filled his nostrils, accompanied by ungainly, scraping footsteps, and he balked, his eyes flickering uselessly from side to side beneath their impeding cover. He backed up instinctively as he sensed the creature approach, but his tail brushed a stone wall, and he was forced to leap to one side to avoid the things, who continued to follow him.

Yes, his body was different. He felt his muscles shifting and rippling beneath his pelt, but they were unfamiliar – almost as if they did not belong to him. The ground was further from his nose than normal, and he felt in that one leap that his body weight had increased. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Hearing the alien approach again, he lashed out with his sharp claws.

A mechanical clang rang out in the darkness, and an angry hum followed.

There was a crackling sound accompanied by a sharp, acidic burning smell, and just a split second later, Bakshaar felt a sharp shock course through his entire body. It wasn't exceedingly painful, but it numbed all his limbs and made him drop his head back to the floor. It reminded him vividly of the night he had tried to hunt the little human colony near his den. That excursion had nearly ended in his death.

Strong claws seized his head, and he could do little more than wriggle ineffectually as they ripped something from his head. Light flooded into his eyes, but before he could adjust, he was picked up bodily – still unable to move – and tossed unceremoniously through an aperture in the wall that he could barely make out. With another grinding noise, something was slammed shut behind him. Uneasy on his new legs, he struggled to his paws. He was able to see now, and he studied his new surroundings with a weary glare.

He was in another pen, he understood that, but there was no yellow in sight. Instead, the place was filled with... sand. Sand and scrawny shrubbery. Artificial light and heat from above warmed him. All was quiet, nearly peaceful considering what had been done to him before. Still he waited, tensed for a pounce should more of those horrible creatures come to hurt and burn him again. After a few minutes of pained silence, he decided danger was not evident. Instead, Bakshaar searched for a reflective surface to see what had become of himself. What he saw made him sick.

His body was deformed. His upper half looked been completely different, thicker and broader than his natural lithe form. His strong front legs were now shorter than his back ones, shoulders once behind his head now on equal terms with it. The combination was what made standing on his four paws uncomfortable.

An idea crossed his mind, and he experimentally pushed upwards with his new arms, standing upwards. His back legs began to ache from the strain of holding his new weight alone. He swayed a little, tail swishing to keep his balance. It was also slightly longer than before now, almost enough to wrap twice around his new bulky frame. Eventually, the swaying stopped as he was able to stabilize himself.

Strange and unnatural as it was, Bakshaar attempted to walk in this new way. But the moment he lifted one paw from the ground, he fell forward. He blocked the fall with his paws, turning his muzzle away, but still his head hit a small rock protruding from the brown, and he faded once more.


	5. Fight

"It is time to test you now, Specimen. Stand." The creature hissed malevolently.

Grunting piteously, Bakshaar shook off the remainder of the shock and dragged himself to his feet again. There was metal – horrid, mocking, brown stone – on all sides save two. Behind him was yellow again, from which he shied away instinctively, and in front... in front was light and sound.

Warily, he nosed his way forward, out of the confining stone, into light. Before he had even emerged fully, however, the scent of aliens hit him like a wall. Casting his eyes around the strange place in which he now found himself, he saw them everywhere. They were all above him, out of reach beyond a clear wall, watching him.

Growling suspiciously, Bakshaar followed the wall, seeking another way out. It curved around, he soon saw, leading back to where he had started. As he passed them, the creatures shouted at him unintelligibly, and he instinctively backed away towards the center of the area, his ears flicking back and forth as he tried to comprehend his surroundings.

Was that an opening? A way out? Cautiously, Bakshaar towards it, feeling as he did the awkwardness with which his new, strange body moved. Just before he could reach it, though, another scent hit his nostrils, causing him to scramble to a stop. His vision turned red, and thoughts of death and killing streamed through his mind like a river, an unstoppable torrent of bloodlust that suffused his entire being.

Suddenly imbued with the will to fight, Bakshaar threw back his head and roared. It had been so long since he had the strength to do that, and it felt good to give in his basest instincts and let loose his voice. It felt so good!

Suddenly, he was the king again. Some other creature was encroaching upon his territory, he sensed. He would kill it! He would tear it apart, rip it limb from limb! He stalked back and forward in front of the small opening, waiting for whatever was inside to step forth and die. He roared again and the creatures fell silent, as if waiting for something.

Something shifted in the darkness of the hole, Bakshaar's sharp eyes detecting it instantly. As the newcomer stepped forward, the light glanced off its claws like it would off black diamond. It was another alien, something tall with sharp red markings and high, pointed ears, one red and one white. It hissed in rage as it stalked forward, its muscles bulging grotesquely. Bakshaar retreated warily to the center of the arena, his mouth contorted into a feral snarl, daring his opponent to step forward. He would defend his territory to the death.

The trespasser stepped forward again, its eyes blazing red. It lifted a claw high, and Bakshaar tensed, feeling his unfamiliar body respond to his commands. With a hiss, the other attacked in a blur of white, red and black. Bakshaar leapt out of the way as the sharp black claws bit the ground where he had been standing. Some part of his mind registered that the creature were humming excitedly. It made no difference. His body shivered. He would tear the invader apart!

With a snarl, he leapt forward, hoping to pin his opponent and access its vulnerable neck. Unused to his overly responsive body, he ended up sending them both flying into the wall. Growling, he slashed out with the claws on his front legs, gratified by the amount of blood spilled. It was more than usual...

His adversary hissed in pain and swiped with its claws. Bakshaar felt them rake across his face, accompanied by a lance of white-hot pain that disappeared almost immediately. Nothing remained except for the red fugue of battle.

Bakshaar jumped backwards, crouching in preparation for another leap. One of his eyes was partially obscured by blood, but he could see well enough to kill. He knew he had dealt a severe blow. All he had to do was keep it up. He had to kill, tear, maim, destroy! It was all that mattered.

His opponent leapt forward, claws outstretched and rage burning in its eyes. Bakshaar countered with a leap of his own, crashing into the trespasser in midair. His adversary was slightly heavier, but Bakshaar's hunting instincts were kicking in after so many days left unanswered in the aliens' prison. He was free once again, free to rip and tear-

And suddenly there was fire, fire everywhere, and he was unable to ignore it. The fire built inside of his body, setting his whole being abuzz with the flames, and it filled him with a new energy, one that begged, no, downright demanded to be released. If not now, then never.

Bakshaar backed away from his weary opponent, letting the fire build inside of him. The buzz intensified, then drew into his front paws. When he felt it all drain there, he leapt ferociously, catching his opponent's chest, slamming them both to the ground, and the creature screamed high and tinny, a long black scorch from Bakshaar's paws burned into it's chest.

With a powerful rush of euphoria, Bakshaar knew it was over. He bit deep, feeling blood spurt from the other's neck. With its dying breath, his failed challenger screamed its pain to the invisible sky. Bakshaar released it and added his voice to the sound, but his was a howl of triumph and sated bloodlust.

A screech of metal, and the aliens were coming in again. Still keen to tear something else apart, he bounded forwards, but was stopped in his tracks by another electrifying jolt that made the world go black.


End file.
